


Sentenced to Depths

by Bard_TheChronicler



Category: GTFO (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Gen, Horror, Mystery, Science Fiction, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:01:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29074491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bard_TheChronicler/pseuds/Bard_TheChronicler
Summary: Built offshore atop the Chicxulub Crater in the Yucatán Peninsula, the private high-tech maximum security prison facility run by the mysterious Warden is infamous as the home to extremely dangerous criminals from all over the world, many of them with military or combat experience. What most people don't know, however, is that these inmates are far from the most dangerous entities in the facility.





	1. The Choice

**Author's Note:**

> Done as a Gen-uary challenge from r/fanfiction, as well as a personal challenge to write in a small/tiny fandom. Additionally, I wanted to actually finish a story for once. Heh... so I made a hard-stop at three chapters.  
> Oh, and one more thing: this is my first foray into "horror" so I'm probably crap at it. Sorry in advance.

The floodlights were blinding, making her wince as she was forced to squint almost to the point of shutting her eyes completely.

They escorted her, one silent guard to either side holding her firmly by the arms, to the lone chair in the middle of the massive octagonal pit. Above the pit was a viewing gallery, though the glaring lights prevented her from seeing into the relative darkness that covered that space.

Almost as soon as they had entered, she could feel eyes on her all the way to the point when she was secured to the chair with magnetic locks that clamped onto the metal bands on her wrists and ankles. The guards retreated to where they had emerged from a side door, which slid shut behind them, leaving her alone.

The silence that followed was punctuated only by her loud and quick breaths, and the fast beating of her own heart.

She tried one more time to look up towards the viewing gallery, hoping to catch even a glimpse of whoever it was that was up there, but the lights were too painful to bear for long and she quickly found herself lowering her head and staring down at the grated metal floor instead, blinking away the pain and the spots in her vision.

“Prisoner 763-54-B27,” a familiar, slightly digitized voice spoke through the speakers that ringed the pit. It was a deep voice, clearly masculine, and spoke with the measured confidence and authority of someone accustomed to giving orders.

Her whole body stiffened upon hearing it. Everyone in this godforsaken place knew who that voice belonged to, though nobody had ever actually seen his face or knew his name. There was only one name, one title, that he was called by, and it was certainly not his birth name.

The Warden.

Not even the guards dared to speak a word about him. It was common knowledge that he knew everything that ever happened within the walls of the complex, and not even they were immune to punishment should they break the rules. And there were certainly a lot of rules here.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

The question caught her off-guard. Was this a trick question? Was this a test? She tried to find a reason for it, but only ended up feeling more confused and more afraid. If she answered incorrectly, there were likely to be consequences. But if she did not answer at all, there would also be consequences. Of that she was sure.

“I… I committed a crime…” she answered weakly. And just when a spike of fear shot through her that she might have spoken too softly to be heard, the voice of The Warden spoke again.

“Crime _s_ ¸ prisoner. Plural,” he corrected her, though he did not sound upset, which she thought was a good thing. "At least, according to this rather extensive file we have on you."

She nodded, shivering as she realized it was rather cold here. Especially where the metal of her bindings and the chair pressed against her bare skin.

“But no, that’s not exactly what I was asking,” continued The Warden, sounding almost amused. “You are aware that you have been sentenced to death for your crimes, are you not?”

The sudden reminder of her sentence left her feeling numb, especially after having spent months here without so much as a whisper about when it was going to happen. The thought had been there in the back of her mind, that she was here because of that, but she had refused to even consider it.

After all, she did not want to die. Even despite the guilt of her crimes weighing heavily upon her, she did not want to acknowledge that she would at some point be forced unwillingly into the cold, dark unknown that was death.

The silence stretched on, and she realized that she was expected to respond. She nodded weakly.

“Then tell me,” said The Warden, “How would you _want_ to die?”

Her hands balled into fists, and her pale skin turned even paler from the strain. She shook her head fiercely.

“I don’t,” she said, her voice breaking a little and she hated herself for acting so weak, for feeling so helpless. “I don’t want to die.”

“Come now, Prisoner 763-54-B27. Everyone will die eventually, whether they want to or not. Even I will pass on from this world someday, hard as that may be to believe right now.” If the words were meant to console her, they certainly did no such thing.

The Warden kept going. “Death is the only guarantee we have in all of our lives. The only fate that we, as living biological organisms, cannot currently run from or avoid completely, from the richest of the rich to the poorest of the poor, we will all die eventually,” he continued, “In this regard, you might have even heard the saying that ‘death is the great equalizer.’ And while there is some truth to that, it is not entirely true. Because the thing is, while most people never get the luxury of _choosing_ how they die, some people, some lucky few, actually do.”

She blinked, still staring at the floor as his words echoed in her head. She could not figure out where this conversation was going. Did he make this speech to every inmate on death row right before their lives were ended? What was the point of all this?

The Warden pressed on, sounding almost like he was giving a lecture at a university instead of speaking to an inmate bound to a chair in the middle of a pit bathed in lights. “You see, most people go about their lives barely giving a thought to the death that awaits them, watching them from every shadow and every corner, waiting to welcome them somehow, some way, to the great unknown.

“There are those who are caught completely by surprise when it comes, sometimes quietly and peacefully in the middle of the night, or other times loud and painful like a car crash or some other fatal accident. These are the people who _don’t_ get to choose, because by the time death comes for them it is already far too late.

“Then there are those who are fully aware of their impending death, who hear quite clearly the knocking of the grim reaper at their door as it pays them a visit, whether that be because of a terminal illness or to simple old age and failing health. Or, perhaps more relevant to us now, a prisoner being sentenced to death for their crimes.”

The Warden paused, and despite not being able to see him, the prisoner had a feeling that he was smiling right then. In the scenario he had described, she pictured The Warden as the grim reaper coming to knock on her door, and she shivered again, but this time not because it was cold.

“It is that cognizance of death’s inescapable approach that grants these people a choice of how they want to die, of how they face that death as it bears down on them. And on rare occasions, their choices might even make death leave them alone, at least for a little while longer, giving them more time to live. More time to make a difference and a mark on the world. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

She quickly looked up again, squinting into the lights even as they blinded her, as a new thought sprung up in her mind. A hopeful thought, one that both frightened and excited her.

“And that brings us to the reason why you’re here today. Prisoner 763-54-B27 is scheduled to be executed in approximately… oh, ninety minutes,” said The Warden nonchalantly, apparently having checked the time, “But as you already know by now, this is no ordinary prison, and you are no ordinary prisoner. And given these extraordinary circumstances, I’m offering you the chance to be one of the lucky few to have a choice as to how you might die, and you best listen carefully.”

She breathed in sharply through her nose and shut her eyes, making sure to focus on her hearing and pay close attention to his words. Not that she was not already doing so, but she wanted to be extra sure she did not miss a thing.

“Would you rather go quietly and peacefully to a certain death surrounded by doctors and guards ninety minutes from now,” he paused for effect, “Or fight and claw your way through the depths of hell itself for a slim second chance at life? The choice is yours.”


	2. The Team

She had made a deal with the devil.

At least, that was what it felt like. The Warden did mention she would have to fight through hell itself for her chance at freedom. But that was only a figure of speech. Right?

She shivered, remembering how pleased he sounded when she made her decision. Not that it was much of a choice. It was either die for sure in 90 minutes, or probably die sometime in the next 24 hours, with the chance at being set free if she somehow survived whatever it was that she needed to do.

The two guards escorting her were dressed like all the others she had encountered in the prison so far. They wore matching black and gray combat uniforms with high-quality body armor, dark helmets with reflective visors that hid the upper half of their faces, and they sported a pistol on one hip and a collapsible baton on the other.

Considering that she was in chains and by herself, she thought it rather overkill to have two armed guards watching over her. But then again, perhaps that was why she and the other inmates were all locked up in here in the first place. The Warden ran a very tight ship, and there was pretty much a next to zero chance of escape precisely because of procedures like this.

She glanced at their name patches, though instead of names they had their serial numbers. Kind of like her, with her prisoner number stitched onto the left breast of her shirt and on the hem of her right sleeve. It occurred to her that she had not heard her name spoken aloud in months.

The guards were G-217 and G-443. She idly wondered what their real names were and where they were from, but knew better than to ask. Prisoners were expected to be quiet and obedient. She had learned that the hard way. Most of them did.

They stopped at one of three elevator banks spaced out around the prison. Each elevator bank consisted of two magnetic-lifts operating side-by-side in the same shaft. The shaft itself was completely sealed and was a total vacuum, allowing the lifts to move easily without any air resistance.

Instead of a call button there was a sensor pad between the two sets of elevator doors. Several cameras mounted on the walls nearby kept a constant watch.

One of the guards, G-217, took something out of one of his many pockets and scanned it at the sensor, eliciting a positive beep. She could not see what it was he used, having been made to stand far back by the opposite wall, but it was likely some kind of ID card or security fob.

She faintly heard G-217 speaking into the commlink built into his helmet in hushed tones. He proceeded to wave at one of the cameras, presumably to say hi to whoever it was that he was speaking to.

That was another layer of security. All the elevators in the prison were directly controlled from the central command center. Operating the elevators was otherwise impossible, and anyone wanting to traverse floors without using the elevators would have to use the various stairwells situated all over the facility.

She glanced at the other guard, whose gaze she felt directly on her. G-443. Did that mean he was a newer guard than the G-217? It was so difficult to tell how old they were, given that her only clues were their voices, the lower halves of their faces, and their numbers.

More importantly, did that mean there were at least 440 guards in the prison? That seemed an awful lot, but then again, the prison was massive. There was no way to know for sure how many prisoners were locked away here, but if she had to guess based on the size and quality of the prison, that number was probably around a thousand. Perhaps more.

After they stepped into the elevator, it took a few seconds after the doors shut before it began to move again, and she stiffened when she realized that they were going down.

The floor they had just come from was several levels below her cell block, so why were they going down instead of up? She thought that she would be taken back to her cell first, before she would be brought out to do whatever it was that she had agreed to, but apparently, she was wrong. It had already begun.

The elevator continued to speed up its descent, and she glanced nervously at the guards, noting that they did not seem bothered at all about the fact that they were getting closer and closer to what seemed like total freefall. How far down did this prison go? She knew it was a large facility, but this was something else.

What if the system had failed? What if the only thing that awaited her now was a crushing and explosive death at the bottom of this elevator shaft?

“How far down does this go? Where are we going?” she finally blurted out. Rules be damned.

G-443 turned his head slightly, his thin lips twisting into a smirk. “All the way to gates of hell.”

She stared at him as she felt almost weightless for a few seconds before the elevator thankfully began to decelerate.

“Keep quiet,” growled G-217. “Both of you.”

**==X==**

“Jesus, a _woman?!_ ” One of three men seated in the room remarked as she was ushered in by her escorts, who remained outside as the door slid and locked shut behind her.

She took in the well-lit room, noting that it resembled a classroom. Except there were only four desks and four chairs, and they were all in a line near the center of the room. They were facing what looked to be a blank wall where the teacher’s desk and teaching board would be if this was actually a classroom.

“There are _women_ here?” said the same man, incredulous. He had an Irish accent, and the way he spoke immediately tipped her off that he was not the kind of guy who took things very seriously. A natural troublemaker, no doubt.

“Quit gawking. You’re acting like you’ve never seen a woman before,” admonished the second man. British. He sounded reasonable and experienced, although the accent certainly helped with that image.

The third man, all bald, dark skin, and guarded black eyes, remained silent. In fact, other than glancing her direction when she arrived, he did not seem particularly interested in her and resumed facing the wall. He did not seem interested in their other companions either.

“Ah, bugger off, ya fucker. I was just surprised, is all. I thought this hellhole was a men only type of establishment,” said the Irishman, sounding simultaneously amused and annoyed. “And don’t go acting like you ain’t surprised yourself.”

Her gaze finally settled on the Irishman as he slouched over the backrest of his chair. Pale and freckled with short, curly red-orange hair and thin brows and a goatee of similar color. His green eyes flicked about as if he could not stay fixated on one thing for too long, and his right leg was bouncing incessantly. He almost looked like he was hopped up on something.

The Brit sighed, and her eyes slid over to study him. Strong cheekbones. Sharp nose. Serious blue eyes. He sat rigid and straight, like a good military man should. He had an officer’s vibe around him, and he carried himself with a calm confidence that had her wondering if he knew anything about what was going on.

“Please, take a seat, ma’am,” said the Brit, motioning with his head towards the only remaining unoccupied desk to his right. “And don’t let Hackett here put you off. He just prefers the company of men. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course.”

“I said no such thing, so don’t go twistin’ my words to yer own fantasies, ya tool.” The Irishman grinned. “Though I reckon there’s a chance she’s a he who’s _pretending_ to be a she, if ya get my meaning. So maybe there aren’t any biological women in this place after all.” His green eyes checked her out for a moment, though less in a sexual way and more in a clinical ‘does she have a penis’ kind of way.

Regardless, her lips still formed a frown as she finally decided to speak up.

“I’m an All-American woman, thank you very much. And please keep your eyes and thoughts to yourself next time.” She walked as best as she could – they were all still bound by their hands and feet – to the desk that was waiting for her and took a seat.

“Typical bloody Americans,” mumbled the Irishman. “Think they can just walk into any fucking room and act like they own it.”

The Brit snorted but did not comment on that. Instead, he turned to her and introduced himself.

“I’m Bishop, by the way.” He gestured towards the dark-skinned man, who continued to ignore them. “And that’s Dauda. He doesn’t seem to speak much, but he at least gave us a name.”

“You guys been here long?”

Bishop shook his head. “Maybe twenty or thirty minutes at most before you showed up.”

“A fucking eternity, if you ask me,” remarked Hackett unbidden. “Leave it to a woman to take so long to get ready.”

Bishop ignored him, and she decided to do the same. His blue eyes met her gray. “What should we call you?” he asked.

She thought for a moment. They all appeared to be using family names, but there was a good chance that they were not using their actual family names, considering the situation.

“You can call me… Davis.” She decided to use her mother’s family name. Close enough.

Bishop nodded respectfully. “Welcome to the team, Davis.”

“We’re a fucking team, now? Great. Bloody fucking great. I feel all warm and fuzzy inside,” said Hackett sarcastically. “I guess we can all die together singing bloody koombaya or some shite like that.”

“You planning on dying soon or something, Hackett?” asked Bishop evenly.

“Maybe,” Hackett replied in a surprisingly serious tone, his smile gone as he leveled a steady gaze back at Bishop. There was a tense silence for a few seconds before the room was suddenly filled by the Irishman’s gleeful laugh.

Bishop let out a long breath and shook his head.

Davis eyed them both. Did they know each other from before?

Hackett’s amusement subsided and he looked around the room. “Alright, alright, I reckon I can simmer it down a notch. But can somebody tell me what the fuck we’re doing down here first?”

Right on cue, the lights suddenly dimmed, and the blank wall shockingly turned out to be a giant screen as it suddenly faded to black. They all stared at it.

“Time is short, so there will be no questions during this briefing,” spoke the firm voice that they all knew to be The Warden. The room appeared to be equipped with surround sound speakers, because his voice seemingly came from all around them.

The Warden continued, “You’re here because you agreed to the terms of my deal, and if you haven’t figured it out already, everyone in the room will be teaming up for this mission. You all have some combat experience and are skilled in various fields, so I trust everyone will get along. I am not in any way overstating it when I say that your success, and survival, depend on it. That being said, please listen to Bishop as he will be your team leader on this mission.”

As The Warden was speaking, a speck of white appeared in the middle of the screen that quickly grew into a three-dimensional schematic of what looked to be a sprawling underground facility. The view rotated for a handful of seconds before one cross-section of it was highlighted and the rest faded away as the view zoomed in some more.

“The map you see before you is of a secret research facility known as The Complex. Your mission is simple enough, you must infiltrate the facility and restart the reactor located in Area 79,” as he said this, a section of the floor was highlighted. “Unfortunately, the closest access point we can deploy you at is here, in Area 71.” Another part of the 3D map was highlighted.

“Getting the rest of the way there will be up to you. Speed and stealth are your best options, since you will have limited supplies and resources. You will also receive no additional support, and will have very limited, if any, communication with us once you’re there.” The Warden paused, letting that information sink in.

Davis frowned. She opened her mouth to speak, but then shut it and kept quiet. She had so many questions that she wanted to ask, none the least of which was why an outside force was being sent in to restart a reactor in a presumably hostile facility. It made no sense at all.

“Once you have completed the objective, return to the entry point for extraction. After this briefing, you’ll be taken to the Armory where you will pick out your weapons and gear. Once that’s settled, you will be brought to your respective quarters nearby to get some rest and nourishment. Deployment will be in 10 hours. Good luck.”

With that the map disappeared and the screen went black again, before returning to the same color as the other walls, blending in perfectly. Though of course now they knew better, not that any of them were even thinking about the wall screen at the moment.

“What the fuck?” Hackett blurted out, the first one to break out of their stunned silence, and the rest of them could not help but feel the same way.


End file.
